<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A letter to Santa by argonautic</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28109199">A letter to Santa</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/argonautic/pseuds/argonautic'>argonautic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:27:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,658</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28109199</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/argonautic/pseuds/argonautic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>James’s letter to Santa asked for just one thing but offered another.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeremy Clarkson/James May</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A letter to Santa</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've read ‘spectacular makeup sex’ somewhere else but I can't recall where – I hope the Author will understand I loved it so much I’ve shamelessly stolen it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Slouched on the couch in the exact position which James firmly deemed it had irreversibly warped the pillows, Jeremy raised his gaze over the iPad and the eyeglasses perched on the tip of his nose, casually asking “What do you want for Christmas?”</p><p>“Nothing”, not at that moment at least, since James was busy typing a pretty heated, absolutely not-festive, letter of complaint.</p><p>“Oh come on, don’t be fussy, just tell me what you’d like…”</p><p>“Booze will do”, James hastily replied, still typing half-hidden behind the screen of his laptop.</p><p>“Nah, it must be something else – something personal…”</p><p>James stopped typing. “It doesn’t work like that, you moron! You’re supposed to make an effort and think about a suitable gift by yourself”, he grumbled, finally raising his head to look at Jeremy.</p><p>“That you wouldn’t find heartfelt nor as funny as I thought, and we’re going to quarrel over how insensitive I am again…”, Jeremy pouted, “You know, Santa may need some help in choosing the right thing.”</p><p>True. Last Christmas James threw a fit over the inappropriateness of the gift Jeremy had given him, in spite of how hard Jeremy had tried and strived to find it. It was a weird plush supposed to represent a prostate cancer cell; cherry on top, Jeremy had hidden a bottle of sildenafil tablets inside it. The card said, ‘I’ve read frequent ejaculation may decrease prostate cancer risk - I’m willing to help. Merry Christmas’. It didn’t help pointing out “It’s because I care about your health, you twat” nor “It’s reversible, look!”</p><p>It eventually led to spectacular makeup sex on Boxing Day, but still James was ashamed of how harshly he had reacted so, guilt-ridden and recognising Jeremy’s attempt, he felt compelled to reply something.</p><p>“Slightly better. But I don’t know yet, haven’t thought about it.”</p><p>“But I need- I mean, Santa needs to know in time!”</p><p>“I’ll write him a letter – it’s the tradition.”</p><p>“I’m sure nowadays Santa also accepts texts and similar – just saying”, Jeremy suggested, but James firmly stated, “It has to be a letter”; then, fearing he was being too rude, he quickly changed the subject, “What about curry for dinner?”, and closed his laptop giving up writing for that night.</p><p>“Fine by me.”</p><p>***</p><p>Some days later, in a cold mid-December morning after having slept at James’s for the third night in a row, Jeremy was on his way to leave the place when James stopped him, “Since you’re going, could you post this for me?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>It wasn’t unusual for James to send letters or postcard the old-fashioned way and the envelope wasn’t particularly appealing, so Jeremy didn’t care to check what it was; he was also already loaded with the weekend bag and the purse, mobile in one hand and car keys in the other, so it was James that unzipped his coat and put the letter in the inner pocket, “Don’t forget about it as usual”.</p><p>“It only happened once!”, Jeremy retorted, but James replied only by zipping him up and tugging him closer by the lapels of his coat. A nuzzle first, then a brief kiss: James’s way to say goodbye, "Love you. See you in two days."</p><p>"Yeah. Take care of yourself in the North. Love you."</p><p><em>It's the small things</em>, Jeremy reminded himself while walking to his car, so there was nothing wrong if he had to get back to his place almost every morning. James always welcomed Jeremy's attempts to sleep there - to actually sleep, without further developments, also - but never said anything about moving together. There's nothing wrong in that either. It's more than a year that they're - <em>dating? What's the way James successfully put it last time I asked, ‘compensate each other's flaws' or something similar </em>- and Jeremy has increasingly invaded James's spaces, drawers and lavatory cabinets. <em>It’s like living together, in the end</em>: Jeremy had come to terms with it, it was probably the best thing to do and he didn’t want to push things, especially considering how much James cared about his own independence and loved spending time alone.</p><p>All accounted, it was probably the best arrangement for them both yet every time he left the place to get back to his own, he couldn’t help feeling a little blue - it got worse if he knew they wouldn't see each other for a whole day or even longer, as it was going to be that time. Loneliness had a different effect on Jeremy: without anyone around he was an easy target for misery and self-pity, so he would have to summon his kids to have some company in the evening, and every time he’s done that, they assumed he and James had had a serious quarrel.</p><p>***</p><p>London was dark and gloomy; the season seemed still far from the White Christmas sang too many times, despite the strings lights already flickering around every corner. Jeremy resolved on posting James’s letter as the first thing once out of his car, before the other appointments he had for the day.</p><p>There was a post-box on his way to the bank. Jeremy pulled the letter out of his coat and a familiar-looking streak of symbols drew his attention; at a second glance, it’s his own address he read on the envelope. The addressee, instead, was specified as ‘Old, fat, beloved Santa Clarkson’.</p><p><em>Oh.</em> He beamed at the silly joke, and there was more than the frosty air reddening his cheeks now. A whiff of breath condensed in front of him, momentarily blurring his sight as he took the letter in both hands, grinning happily like he was holding a winning ticket. He took off his gloves, pulling them with his teeth one at time to not let go the letter, but desisted from opening it at the last moment, just before tearing the paper: he felt already out of place like that, standing in front of the post-box with a letter in his hands like he didn’t know what to do with it – he would have probably been taken for a snoop or something similar if spotted opening it.</p><p>He put it back under his coat, saving it for later. He promised himself not to think about James’s letter until lunchtime, then he would have read it at the place where it was supposed to be delivered. It might have required another trip to the centre to buy whatever James wished for but he was well worth it. After having concluded all the tasks he’d planned, Jeremy bought a take-away curry and drove back to his flat, wondering what James’s request could have been.<strike></strike></p><p>***</p><p>The flat was painfully cold. The remote-controlled thermostat had probably disconnected once again: Jeremy hated that thing with all his heart but he tried his friendliest approach to the gizmo with the only scope to start the radiators at full throttle - miraculously succeeding.</p><p>In the wait for the temperature to rise to an acceptable warmth, Jeremy kept his coat on. Coloured glares were following him as he moved around the flat, reflections from the neighbour’s Christmas lights seeping in through the windows, highlighting the emptiness of the place. He didn't have the chance to put up a Christmas tree yet, so he texted James: ‘Could you come at mine once you're back? I’ll need help with the tree lights’.</p><p>He took the coat off after a few minutes since it was hindering his moves, but it was still too cold to sit down and read, so Jeremy placed the still unopened envelope in full sight on the table, resisting the curiosity a little longer. If he had been lucky - and James hadn't come out with one of his impossibly peculiar ideas - he could manage to buy what James wanted that same afternoon.</p><p>After having re-heated the still lukewarm curry in the microwave for good measure, in the hope of warming up the whole place with it, Jeremy turned the telly on and sat at the table.</p><p>James’s reply arrived after a while: 'It's me or the fire brigade I guess, so yes'; Jeremy smiled and added ‘recovering the Christmas stuff from the storage’ to the list of the things to do the following day.</p><p>***</p><p><em>So, let's see what James has asked for</em>, Jeremy decided at the end of his lunch, when the flat had finally gotten warmer. He moved to the sofa bringing his mobile and the letter with him, together with the cup of coffee he’d just brewed, opened the letter and began reading.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear Santa,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’ve been requested to ask for a present I probably don’t deserve, since I’ve already been gifted with someone that still loves me even when I’m being an arse.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That said, there’s a recently published book about Moto Guzzi production I’d like to read.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t speed with the sleigh, I need you safe and sound.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>PS: If you’d fancy moving in at mine, I’ll save the stamp on next year’s letter. I’d love to.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>First thing, Jeremy thanked God he hadn't read it earlier in public: if he wasn’t already odd enough standing blankly in front of a post-box, the sight of him having an emotional breakdown over a letter to Santa would have surely made the news.</p><p>He scrubbed his face, dragging away whatever was making his eyes itchy but not the sudden crave for something stronger than a capsuled espresso. <em>Oh come on, it’s not a marriage proposal</em>, he encouraged himself whilst still sniffling.</p><p>He took a deep breath and read the letter again, this time prepared to its overwhelming finale, ending up giggling marvelled by James’s boldness, <em>you moron, asking something so meaningful in a post-scriptum, you unbearable prick, I so love you.</em></p><p>Jeremy had no doubts about what to answer; the issue was rather finding an adequate way to accept James’s offer – showing up in Blackpool or wherever James was filming that day shouting “Yes!” seemed a bit too much and would have spoiled the magic of Christmas also.</p><p>Unexpectedly, having to spend a couple of days alone turned out being a good thing: Jeremy would have all the time he needed to draw up a suitable plan, already contemplating the chance to pay back in kind.</p><p>But first, the book. He could have easily gotten it out of Amazon, but it wouldn't feel the same. He wanted to struggle a bit to find it. Wanted a crisp wrapping and a huge ribbon over it. And a bright red card, in thick cardboard - one of those meant for important messages. Love messages.</p><p>He struggled more than expected to find the book James wanted: it turned out there was plenty of lunatics wasting their time writing books over motorbikes and the details James offered weren’t exactly accurate, so he deeply hoped the book he eventually chose was the right one. He would probably write that as a note on the card. But it was a good thing in the end, since the endeavours kept him distracted from the other request – actually an offer – James had made.</p><p>He thought about it again at night, when the kids had gone back home after countless words of reassurance that everything was fine between James and him. It was thanks to their presence that he resisted the will to call James instead of just texting him goodnight, and it’s been his youngest that, arguing over the straightforwardness of text messages, inadvertently suggested a feasible, mischievous strategy to reply to James’s proposal. In fact, there was no way James could be sure his letter had been received.</p><p>***</p><p>Despite James never mentioned the letter again, it took all Jeremy’s strength to resist until Christmas’s eve without letting anything slip out of his mouth. It got particularly demanding the day they were setting up the tree at Jeremy’s – better, James was - and he not-so-casually asked himself loudly what was the point of it, considering Jeremy was at his place most of the time, <em>the sneaky bastard</em>, but Jeremy played it cool.</p><p>His plan had been revisited at least three times before being deemed up to his genius, and some red cards were sacrificed to the optimization process. He managed to find a bottle of a wine he recalled James had appreciated before and wrapped it up somehow, with another ribbon and another card – the important one. It came out a bit crumpled, but since it had to be clear there was a bottle inside, Jeremy was quite proud of the result.</p><p>To make it perfect, Jeremy asked the mail dispatch guy at the office for a label with James’s address on. When faced with his inability to pack it up the way he wanted, Jeremy brought the already wrapped book, box and all to the same guy he’d asked for the label, begging him for help again. “It has to look like it’s straight from Amazon”, he explained in slight embarrassment.</p><p>***</p><p>On Christmas’s eve Jeremy arrived at James’s at eight o’clock like planned. He rang the bell with the hand that was holding the bottle, as the other one was hiding a parcel behind his back. He waited for the door lock to click before leaning down, pretending to pick the parcel from the ground right while James opened the door; “There’s a box here – says it’s for you…”, he said, checking the label.</p><p>“Oh. Fans maybe. Bring it inside please.”</p><p>Jeremy obeyed, focused on not letting his satisfaction show through and showing off the bottle he’d brough with him instead – ostensibly James’s only present. It was a bit cruel pretending he didn’t get James’s letter but the disappointed glance James gave at the bottle encouraged Jeremy to push things a little bit further, knowing it was worth it.</p><p>They ate the fine dinner James had set up, and in a leap of Christmas spirit James accepted to open the presents before midnight, mainly to avoid getting morbidly drunk in the wait. They moved to the sofa and, as James reached out to grab one of the presents under the tree, Jeremy suggested: “Open mine to begin – it will go well with the rest of the unpackaging”.</p><p>James chose to listen to him - not without retorting “Well since it’s my present I lay claim the right to drink it whenever I like”, but Jeremy argued - not to James’s claim but to his choice to begin unwrapping the bottle - “Oi! The card first, you boozer!”</p><p>James warily side-eyed Jeremy but complied anyway. Meanwhile, Jeremy had already lost his coolness, his fists clenched in the wait, hoping for his now redder cheeks to pass unnoticed. James licked his lips while reading, making it harder for Jeremy to hold still; trembling in anticipation, Jeremy was following James’s eyes as they scanned the lines of the card, bracing for the eventual mockery over the unusual mawkishness of his words.</p><p>“You sod – you know I love you”, James finally muttered, barely restraining himself from what Jeremy hoped being an outburst of joy; he then pulled out of his pocket a couple of keys held together by a keychain that ended with a shiny, steely, decidedly erected cock, and showed them to Jeremy, “Here. Thought you might like it”.</p><p>Jeremy beamed, then burst out in a liberating laugh and took them from James’s fingers to carefully evaluate the unusual pendant. “Is it moulded over yours? ‘Cause I don’t recall it being this pointy”, he joked; James rolled his eyes sighing, “Idiot”, then offered, “Welcome to <em>our</em> home then.”</p><p>“Thank you. Shall we christen it properly?”</p><p>It was with a proud, even if a bit moved, smile that James replied “With great pleasure”, and Jeremy worried his intentions weren’t that clear, “…I was thinking of sex actually…”</p><p>“Me too. Here or upst-?”</p><p>James didn’t finish his question: Jeremy cut it off eagerly kissing him down to the sofa as the only answer – at least for the first half of the night. The presents remained wrapped up until the morning after.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you were wondering, this is the plush: https://www.giantmicrobes.com/uk/products/prostatecancer.html and this is the keychain (NSFW): https://www.aliexpress.com/i/32823618183.html</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>